While I felt silly when I realized I forgot to post yesterday, I also realize that one day late is better than never (and Merry Christmas! to my out-of-town siblings - you'll have one more present to open). Without any further ado ...
I have a good friend who served a mission for our church in Italy. I served a mission in Germany, and while the two countries are very different, there are many things that we remember about Europe that are the same. One of those things is architecture. Seriously, there are few buildings in the US that are as beautiful as some of the buildings you find on the other side of the ocean. It's not just the cathedrals (although, those are marvelous, too), but common buildings like the post office, department stores, and small shops, are built with detail and beauty. It's lovely.
So, our picture prompt for this week is a European type door. Where is it? (No, I don't mean really where it is, I know that, but that's not the point :-) What's behind it? Who's trying to get through it? How long has it been since it's been opened?
Enjoy!
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My response:
Maybe because I'm in the middle of the Nicholas Flamel series by Michael Scott, but when I look at the door, the only scenarios I'm coming up with are contemporary fantasy type plot lines. So, I'm going with it:
I crossed the square quickly trying not to look too conspicuous while realizing that I probably stood out more because I was trying not to. Oh, the irony. I'd walked these streets every day of my life, hundreds, even thousands of times. From home, our apartment behind the pedestrian zone, to school, then crossing the square home again for lunch. Then back past the pealing cathedral bells to school again in the afternoon. Buying gelato on the way home and stopping by the riverfront to watch the boats ... none of it had made me feel self-conscious before.
But then, I wasn't the girl I was before. I glanced down at my watch. Three o'clock. Had it only been a half hour? It seemed like it would take longer for your whole life to change, but apparently not. Only a half hour ago, Eve and I had left school, bought our ice cream and wandered down to the river bank. Less than thirty minutes ago, three men stopped us and asked for directions. Then all Hell had broken loose. Literally.
I passed the cathedral and slipped around the side of the bank. I'd never seen the black doors open. They were a fixture in the city, just as much as the fountain in the square. I never really paid them much attention ... until now.
I knocked three times before anyone opened. Two beady eyes peered through the slit, the body still hidden in shadow. I gasped at the rustle of feathers and looked up to see the grayish outline of two large wings sprouting off the shoulders of the small woman.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" a thin voice demanded.
"Michael sent me here ... he ... he said you could help me." Please, oh please, let them be able to help me! "You see ... I think ... I'm an angel."
The door opened slowly, and the old crone's eyes darted from my face to the faint shimmering behind me. Michael had said not everyone would be able to see them, and it seemed he was right. Honestly, I was hoping no one would see them, and I could get back to my normal life. But the wide eyes of the crone as she stepped into the light herself was proof enough for me. As she slipped out and the sunlight hit her wings, they disappeared to a shimmer, just like the cloud that had followed me across the square.
She took my hand. Her old, wrinkled claw was softer than I would have expected it to be. "Come in, child. You have a story to tell me that I need to hear."
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